Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

F anli left a trail of blood behind him.

I waited until Fuchai was called away to another meeting before following. I kept my face neutral, my movements unhurried as I searched for the signs of where Fanli had gone. The dark red smeared over the flat white tiles, caught on the overhanging twigs. Like that of an animal injured during a hunt, dragging its weak body away from the hounds to lick its wounds in silence. Blood, blood, blood, in the shape of his footprints.

I imagined him collapsing somewhere in the vast palace all on his own, his body turning cold. I imagined him stumbling through the darkness, hands reaching for support where there was none to be found. Nothing to hold on to. Nobody to help him.

My heart felt as if it were shedding flesh.

Around the corner of an empty corridor, the blood seemed to thicken and spread. It dripped from the leaves of a bamboo stalk, violently bright against the subdued greens. The trail stopped here.

I looked around, my breathing faint, my panic swelling fast beneath the surface. Nobody ever came to this part of the palace; the closest chambers belonged to Lady Gu. Zhengdan had heard from the other ladies that she possessed a strange aroma, one that caused the grass to wither and the water to grow stale. Lies, of course, likely spread by a scheming minister or another jealous concubine to discourage Fuchai from giving her his attention. The only thing I could smell in the air now was the fragrance of bamboos and the rust of blood.

He had to be here. He had to . But where—

Suddenly, a hand clamped down over my mouth.

My scream died in my throat when I saw his face. Fanli, his eyes dark and urgent as he dragged me behind the closest wall with him, so we were both hidden by the shadows.

For a moment there was only perfect, shocked silence between us. He was standing—or trying to. He dropped his hand from my lips and leaned a shoulder against the brick, his posture strained, his features stiff with pain. My gut lurched when I saw how far the blood had already spread. The front of his robes looked as if it had been dyed red.

"You shouldn't have followed me here," he whispered. Each word sounded like it cost him something.

I swallowed. Blinked back the burning sensation in my eyes. "I know," I said. "I know, I'll leave quickly. I just need to see—I need to keep you alive."

Somehow, he managed to smile. A thin trickle of light touched his face, patterned by the gaps between leaves. "I'm fine."

I could have hit him then, if he were not injured. "You're not fine. You have to get out of the palace. You were—You're bleeding, Fanli, and he used his sword—He cut you with… There's so much blood—" I was choking on some invisible blade in my throat, all the emotions I'd swallowed down in his absence. Everything was a haze, the background a distortion of shapes and colors. Nothing felt real. "God, how is there— How is there so much blood? What did he do to you? How could he—"

"Xishi." His voice was so tender. So familiar. "It's really not that terrible. I won't die from this; the wound should be a safe enough distance from my heart—"

"Don't move," I commanded, speaking over him. Bandages. I needed bandages, something to stem the blood, but my hands were empty. After a split second's hesitation, I grabbed his sleeve and tore a long, uneven strip of fabric from the hem.

"Has their king harmed you?" Fanli asked. His voice came from above me as I bent to wrap the fabric around his chest. I could see its staggered rise and fall, the effort of a single breath.

He has harmed me more by injuring you.

"No," I said. "He hasn't."

"Then has something… happened between you two?"

"It's my fault." I was glad not to be looking at him. Shame and guilt tore through me from heart to stomach. "It's all my fault. I wasn't thinking properly. I didn't… I made a mistake."

"What?"

It was hardly the time for embarrassment, yet I felt heat suffuse my cheeks when I replied, "I said your name. When he kissed me, I… I said your name."

A beat.

He was so quiet that I couldn't resist gazing up at his face, terrified of what I would see. I did it slowly, taking in the sharp tilt of his chin, the cold line of his lips—and at last his eyes, which were scorching on mine. My heart throbbed.

"I'm really sorry," I went on, scrambling to fill the silence. "I really… I shouldn't have said it. I should have prevented it, somehow, and… protected you from this. From all of this." I finished arranging the fabric over his wound, then stretched it out as hard as I could.

A hiss escaped his teeth.

"Sorry," I whispered again. My hands shook as I fastened the final knot. The makeshift bandage was messy, clearly wrapped in a haste. It would stop him from bleeding out for now, but what if he didn't make it out of the palace in time? What if the wound got infected on his way back to Yue? There was another trembling sensation deeper inside me, as if a fanged creature were burrowed under my skin and was desperate to escape.

As if I were one breath, one break away from shattering completely.

"What if I left with you?" I blurted. The very sight of his blood wounded me, made something in the back of my mind unravel.

Fanli's attention sharpened on me. I saw him waver, felt his heart falter—if only for a fleeting second. The possibilities seemed to flash across his eyes, like stars streaking across the sky. Then he steeled himself. Shook his head. "You can't."

"Who's to say? Who's there to stop us?" I knew that I was being irrational, that to even speak the fantasy out loud was dangerous, but I was so achingly tired of pretending. Of being selfless. "What if we snuck out of the palace together, right now? I'll bring you to a physician and take care of you while your wound heals. And afterward, you could resign as minister, and I could create a new identity— Why do you keep shaking your head? "

"I vowed to His Majesty that I would help him get his revenge," Fanli said softly. "You're right. He could not do anything to me if I really resigned. I've kept too many secrets of his; I have too many valuable connections. He cannot afford to hurt me without hurting himself also. But until your mission is complete, we have to honor our promises to the kingdom."

"But—"

"I know," he said. Closed his eyes. "I know."

My next breath deflated. We had made a choice. From the moment we met by the river, we had been making choices—but this time, it felt fatal. Final. The forked road we'd been walking on ended here, and from now, no matter what happened next, there would be only one single path leading down into the darkness.

And as though the universe wished to hasten our descent, footsteps sounded over the stone in the distance. Guards. They would be patrolling the lanes at this hour. If they saw me emerge from behind Lady Gu's chambers, they would know something was wrong.

"You have to go," Fanli said. He pressed one hand to his chest, as if to physically force back the pain. "I'll be all right. Believe in me."

Liar , I wanted to scream, but we didn't have any time left. The footsteps were drawing closer. Still, I remained frozen to the spot, my gaze clinging to his face, his fragile complexion, his drawn posture. I wanted to stare at him just a little longer. I wanted the world to freeze.

"Xishi. Go. "

How ironic it was, that when we were apart, all I wished for was to be with him. Yet as soon as we were reunited, all we did was tell each other to leave.

"Go," he said again. Pleaded. "Before you get caught. Run."

I ran without looking, without thinking. Tears stung my eyes, burned in the back of my throat, but I could not let them spill. Always those servants in the shadows, silently observing everything. I ran faster, my feet pelting the stone. My robes flowed loose behind me, tearing against the wind. Never before had I considered myself a violent person, but I wanted desperately to rip the world apart. To set fire to something, just for the perverse pleasure of watching it burn. The vermilion palace walls bled past my vision, every corridor and hall and footpath blurring together. It was all just a maze, I thought hysterically. A gilded prison. I would be doomed to wander this place forever and ever and ever, until my heart rotted in its depths. Still I ran onward, as if giving chase. I could see my future moving away from me, as distant as a star, my life caught in the tides of something so much greater than I was.

Powerless, powerless, powerless.

The word echoed in my head like a taunt. And no matter where I looked, it seemed to stare back at me, that age-old curse. The maids sweating as they hurried from chamber to chamber, carrying old sheets and fresh water. The seamstresses walking in a single uniform line, their hands rubbed raw from holding needle and thread.

I did not realize where I was headed, who I wanted to see, until I threw open the doors to Zhengdan's bedchambers.

"Zhengdan," I cried out. My voice echoed, then fell into the still air, like a stone in an empty well. An odd scent reached my nostrils. I should have sensed it then, but I was too distraught, my breath choked out in sobs. All I could see in my head was the sword piercing Fanli's chest, again and again. "Zhengdan. Zhengdan, are you—"

Then my eyes caught on her robes.

That was all I noticed, all I absorbed. I thought her robes must have fallen to the floor beneath her bed. She'd always been a little messy when it came to such matters, choosing to pile her dirty clothes together until she ran out of things to wear. But then I looked again, and my heart dropped. It wasn't just her clothes, but her . She was lying sprawled on the ground, her eyes half-open. Her skin was a terrible color, paler than death.

An empty vial rolled next to her limp form.

"Zhengdan." I crouched beside her, my fingers trembling. I couldn't see any injuries. "What—I don't understand—"

She was still conscious. She turned her head slightly, wincing, and frowned up at me. Fresh blood shone on her lips. "Have you been crying?" she asked, her voice a croak. "Did somebody hurt you? Tell me… who."

I shook my head fiercely. My mind had gone white, devoid of any thoughts except: "I'm—I'm going to get the physician. They'll know— They'll be able to help you— Just wait—"

"They won't come."

"What?" I couldn't make sense of it. I was panicking, my heart caught in my throat. "What do you mean? It's their job— They have to—"

Her lips worked into a weak smile. "I mean they're not allowed. I've already… been deemed guilty. Nobody can escape… punishment."

"By who? Who wouldn't—" I cut myself off. I knew, then. The bitter smell in the air seemed to sharpen, and I noticed for the first time the bejeweled dagger lying just out of reach of her fingers. It was an ornamental dagger, meant only to be admired, not used. I stared at the vial again. There was a special kind of poisonous ball made from herbs that dissolved the organs from within: It was the official punishment used for theft. "General Ma," I said with a creeping sense of disembodiment. My voice didn't seem to belong to me. "He framed you."

"I should have… expected it," she said, grimacing. Her breathing sounded fainter and fainter the more she spoke, like she barely had the energy left to do even that. "I—humiliated him—"

No, I should have expected it. Black bile filled my mouth. I had feared he would get his revenge one way or another, and this sort of cowardly trick—framing someone for stealing an expensive dagger—seemed exactly like something he'd do. I should've been on guard. I should've struck first, convinced Fuchai to have the general removed. Better yet, killed.

But just like with Fanli, I knew there was someone else behind the scenes, pulling all the strings. Someone who'd always suspected Zhengdan and me.

"I don't regret it though," Zhengdan said softly. "It was… the best moment of my life. Seeing the… look on his face. Do you think… my father was watching?"

It was the first time she had mentioned her father in years.

"Yes," I whispered. "Of—of course."

"Good. Good. If only I could have… fought them all." And she laughed, a huff of sound that quickly disintegrated into a horrible, hacking cough. She covered her mouth with a white napkin. When she lowered it again, it was speckled with blood.

My vision flashed red.

I was going to die.

I was going to kill someone.

"You still haven't… told me, Xishi-jiejie," Zhengdan whispered. "Who upset you? Perhaps—when I turn into a ghost… I can haunt them on your behalf—"

" Don't say that ," I said sharply. I could feel the cracks forming under my skin, everything threatening to break apart. What would remain, even? I had nothing left. "Please," I said, quieter, desperate. "I can't bear it…"

"I‘m not scared… of dying," Zhengdan said. "I just wish… I could accompany you for longer…"

"I'll murder him," I whispered vehemently, my nails digging into my palm. The images joined together in my mind: Zhengdan's pallid face, her crumpled form; Fanli's expression of silent pain, his limping figure. All that I held dear torn away from me, their suffering dangled right before my very eyes while I could only watch and pretend my heart wasn't eating itself whole. Powerless, powerless, powerless. "I'll cut him to pieces with his own sword."

"Don't, Xishi. I don't want you… staining your hands… for me." A violent tremor passed through her body. She winced and curled up against herself, like an infant in a mother's womb. Her eyelids drooped. "Why is it so… so cold in here…"

"It's because the maids haven't changed the firewood today," I babbled, drawing her body onto my lap and covering her with my coat. She was so light she barely weighed anything at all. "I'll start the fire later. Soon. And then—and then you'll feel better."

"Yes. That must be why," she murmured, closing her eyes. I had to lower my head just to hear her. "I feel… better already."

I wrapped my coat tighter around her, feeling the warmth of her skin fade. Her pulse ran as shallow as a mountain creek in the dry winter, and it was growing duller by the second. Zhengdan. My brave, beautiful, reckless friend. My family away from home. The girl who should have lived a hundred summers, burning as bright as a comet in the sky. Now I watched her light die.

"It hurts," she croaked.

"What does?"

"Everything." Then, as if she regretted saying it aloud, amended: "Only… a little, though. I can… handle it."

I cradled her neck and felt my heart collapse.

"Jiejie…" She looked like she was about to tell me something, but when she opened her mouth again, no sound came out, just a dark trickle of blood. Jiejie. A sound rose inside me, part sob and part scream. All this time, I had grieved the death of one sister—I could not bear to grieve another. It was too much.

Her head lolled back in my lap. She had gone completely still, her pulse silent as a grave, but I held on to her. Rubbed her limp, frozen hands to warm them. I would light the fire. I would heat up this whole room. And when that didn't work—I would burn this kingdom down to ashes, turn all its men into smoke. I would, I would.

I did not weep.

My tears had run dry, my heart a dark chasm. Any lingering sentiment, any softness—it had been scrubbed completely clean, like the sand from inside a dosinia shell. All that remained was a white, cold fury. And I knew exactly what I had to do.

I set Zhengdan's body back down on the ground. Wiped her blood from my fingers. Straightened my cloak. As I turned, I caught my reflection in the bronze mirror on her bedside table; my face looked hollow, my eyes so black they seemed to absorb all light. For the first time, I caught a shadow of the enchantress they all said I was, the legend I would become. I could barely even recognize myself.

Then I walked back to my chambers all alone, my back straight and my footsteps firm as though nothing had happened, and awaited the news.

Just as expected, Fuchai came later that afternoon, his mouth set into a grim line. "There's something I must tell you," he said. His voice was soft, and he looked genuinely regretful. Perhaps he already felt guilty about the meeting with Fanli, now that he'd come to the conclusion Fanli was no threat. "I'd suggest you sit down first."

I sat obediently on my bed with a look of perfect confusion. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's the palace lady, Zhengdan," he told me. Of course it is. He reached for my hands, the same hands that had cradled Zhengdan's cheeks while she withered, her insides eaten away by poison. I could still smell the stench of herbs and blood in her room. I could still feel the unnatural coolness of her skin. Bile bubbled in my throat; I swallowed it, forced myself to keep still. "She was caught stealing, and as a result…" He hesitated. "She has been punished. They've already buried her body."

It was then that I delivered one of the greatest performances of my life. My body swayed, as if I might faint. I let the shock show on my face, then anguish, my eyes wide and my lips trembling. A shame that nobody else was around to appreciate my acting. Zhengdan would have found it impressive. "What?" I said.

"I understand this can be quite overwhelming," he continued, rubbing a consoling hand over my back. "Especially since she has served you for a while now. But General Ma spotted her taking a highly valuable dagger with his own eyes. That same dagger was found later in her bedchambers. We are not sure what she intended to do with it but… The evidence is irrefutable."

I stared at him and wondered how big a role he'd played in helping plant that evidence there. Had he lent the dagger to General Ma himself? Or had he simply turned a blind eye as his ever-helpful minister, Wu Zixu, plotted the scheme under his nose? "That's terrible," I made myself say, dabbing at my eyes with my sleeve. "But—well, in that case… I'm glad you're safe. I hate to think what might've happened otherwise."

His pupils narrowed into two small, dark points. I felt his fingers tremble. "Truly?"

"Truly, what?"

"You care so much about my safety?" He gazed down at me fiercely, the look in his eyes wild and hopeful and terrible. His grip tightened over me, but for all his firmness, his kingly authority, I could sense the uncertainty quivering beneath it, like a young boy clutching desperately to a kite string, afraid it would fly away at any moment.

"Of course," I lied. It was all I ever did these days. "You are what matters most to me. There is nobody else but you."

He released a sigh through his teeth. Lay back on the bed beside me. "Sometimes," he murmured, "I admit… I find it hard to believe that you could ever reciprocate what I feel. You must know what you do to my heart." He tugged my hand down as he spoke, bringing it to his chest. I felt the rapid thud-thud-thud of his heart. How easy it would be, I wondered, my eyes fluttering shut briefly, to rip it out.

Patience , I willed myself. One step at a time.

"Are you convinced now, my king?" I asked, lying down next to him until our shoulders were close to touching. With my other hand, I turned and stroked his cheek with all the false tenderness I could muster. "Or do you need more convincing still?"

"I… No." He swallowed. "After today, you have more than persuaded me." Then he looked at me again, his eyes fringed by those long lashes. "Are you really all right? I always thought you were quite fond of her."

A dagger jumped to my throat. I savored the pain silently, let it harden me. "It's you I'm worried about, Fuchai," I said.

"Me?"

"Think: In one day, the Yue's military advisor has been greatly injured, and their hand-chosen tribute has been killed. If word of any of this reaches King Goujian, I'm afraid it would greatly sour the relationship between the two kingdoms. Wars have been waged for less, have they not?"

He frowned, but didn't speak.

I treaded on carefully, as though over ice. "I can help you smooth things over," I said. "I was born in Yue, after all, and am more familiar with their customs. And King Goujian is a reasonable man. We'd need only explain that Zhengdan had committed a grievous crime first. This need not devolve into something terrible. I am only afraid, well…"

"Afraid of what?"

"It sounds awful, I know, but…" Again I hesitated on purpose, pursed my lips. "Whoever advised this course of action seems not to have the interests of the Wu in mind. It is almost as if… they wish to spark a war." There was no need to specify who. It could only be Wu Zixu.

His gaze sharpened. He sat upright in an instant, his black hair lightly mussed and falling over his eyes. He raked an irritable hand through it. "What are you saying?"

"I have already said too much."

"No, I want you to tell me the truth." More quietly, he added, "There is nobody around me I can trust."

If this were any other day, I would have felt a dull stab of guilt. But Zhengdan's blood still lingered on my fingers. Fanli's silhouette still burned in my mind. As it was, I did not even flinch. "I was passing by the Hall of Celestial Harmony yesterday night when I heard this male voice…" I conveniently omitted the fact that I had passed by on purpose, having received notice from Xiaomin that Wu Zixu was there. "I could not quite place who the voice belonged to, only what they were saying. But the State of Chu came up."

Alarm rippled over Fuchai's face. "The State of Chu?"

"Something about it being the right opportunity, if everything went to plan… I did not pay it too much attention at the time, and perhaps I am wrong to think anything of it now—perhaps they were referring to some kind of trade. Yet I cannot help wondering… If the Wu and the Yue were to be reengaged in battle, who would stand to gain the greatest advantage?" I had finished weaving my embroidery. Now I could only hold my breath and pray he recognized the picture within it.

"That is… interesting indeed." His features were cast in shadow, so it was difficult to decipher his expression. But then he stood, brushing his robes, and muttered under his breath: "And here I thought Zixu had cut all ties with the Chu. He had sworn it."

I feigned surprise. "Zi-Zixu? As in… your advisor, Zixu?"

"The very one."

"Surely not," I said, clapping a hand to my heart. How naive I must have appeared, how wonderfully guileless. "Even though he's always been very adamant on conquering the Yue, surely he wouldn't go so far —and he is respected by many for his wise counsel to your father…"

The corner of Fuchai's lips twisted. His father had always been a sore subject, a constant wound in his pride. Sometimes you had to know precisely where to rub the salt. "My father may have trusted him. That doesn't mean I should."

I could almost see the poisonous seeds I'd planted sprouting before me, their darkness blooming in his mind. Trust was such a fragile thing; it took decades to consolidate, seconds to shatter, and a lifetime to repair again. I hid a smile. If the ministers called me a fox spirit, a witch—then a witch I would be. Whatever it took. "Come," I said, pulling him back to me and drawing down the veil of the canopy bed, so all our world was covered in red silk and thread. "Do not fret over it now, my king. We can always discuss again when the morning comes."

He sighed, massaging his temples. "It's all so exhausting."

"I know," I said. It was time for the next step of my plan. "What do you say we take a pleasure trip somewhere? Just the two of us? I've heard so much about the beautiful canals of the capital, yet I'm afraid I haven't had many chances to admire them."

"A pleasure trip," he repeated.

I waited, my heart thrumming like an eagle desperate for flight.

"Yes, that sounds wonderful," he said. "I will ask them to prepare a boat."

"Perfect." With that, I pressed my lips gently to his, sealing the poison within him.

When morning came, the boat had already been readied and docked outside the palace gates. It was made of a bright red wood so polished that it shone, and the side was carved into the shape of a dragon's undulating body, every individual scale etched into that glossy surface, its tail flaring out like flames. In motion, I imagined it looked like a real dragon diving in and out of the waters, its head reaching up from the emerald waves.

The trip was meant to be a private one, but as always, the king and I were not really alone. Among the crew on the boat were three maids, three servants, two chefs, a seamstress, a fisherman, and two experienced helmsmen who took turns with the oars. I was equally worried the boat would not be able to hold all our weight and curious as to how the seamstress would even serve her purpose.

"Where to?" Fuchai asked as the boat rocked back from the docks.

Home , I wanted to say, but I knew it was the one place I could not return to. Not yet.

"Anywhere," I said, breathing in. The air smelled like brine, like unshed rain. "Take me somewhere beautiful."

And so we went. The hour was early enough that a fine mist still hung over everything like a spell, softening the edges of the stone banks and arched bridges. Ancient buildings rose up around us, their walls a faded gray-white and covered with thick, crawling ivy. The sky shaded to a rose blush, then to a pale cornflower blue.

I sat by the very edge, as far as I could go without danger of falling overboard, letting the breeze whip my face. White foam frothed from the splashing oars, and the slow lull of the boat was almost a comfort. It was all fresh air, wide open space, the canals running to the end of the world. I could pretend the palace was gone, could act like there were no kingdom gates to hold me, only—

"What are you thinking about?" Fuchai's voice broke through the peace.

Only it was all an illusion. I had come here for a purpose, not pleasure. "Just… remembering," I said. Villagers filled the paths around the canals, noblewomen and vendors and scholars fanning themselves as they walked. Customers wove in and out of the stalls, buying slices of honeydew and jade trinkets and grasshoppers in little bamboo cages. Black smoke billowed from woks. Smoke and salt : It was how the poets always described the mortal realm. I could smell it, taste it on my tongue. The boat drifted on. We passed by a little girl carrying bolts of silk in her scrawny arms; the fabric was piled so high it nearly blocked her whole face from view. Yet her steps over the damp tiles were sure and steady.

"She seems quite young to already be working," Fuchai said.

I glanced at his face. He was being serious.

"You do not know what it's like out there," I told him. "In any village, girls half her age would be working harder jobs."

"Really?" His eyes widened.

Him and his sheltered naivete. "Of course."

"But why?"

Did he really not know? No, his expression was pure innocence, a boy who had spent his life behind golden walls. Even when blood flowed before him, it was onto marble tiles, and under his command. "They have to," I said, my tone light as our boat floated down the canals like a creature in the mist, "in order to survive."

I remembered the first time my mother had taught me how to wash raw silk. I was four years old then, only just big enough to walk without stumbling. She had been kind with me, and patient, treating it like a game. See this? she'd asked, holding the dry silk up to the light. Watch how it changes. Then she'd dipped it into the water, scrubbing hard with her rough and blistered fingers, and held it up again. I'd clapped in delight, and she'd passed the next roll of silk to me. Now you try.

This, I remembered too: The silk had been tougher than I expected. It hurt my fingers when I held on to it for long, and it was so heavy that when it was soaked through in water, I'd almost tumbled headfirst into the river with it. My mother had reached out at the last second, grabbing my shoulders to steady me.

Is it too difficult for you? she'd asked.

The skin on my hands burned. But I'd shaken my head firmly, not wanting to disappoint her.

Suddenly the boat gave a lurch, startling me back to the present. There was a flash of color in my vision, and time seemed to warp around me. I saw the entire scene unfurling in startling detail: the servant who'd been walking past us with a pot of boiling water—presumably to make tea—losing balance, the fear in his eyes as the lid fell and the water spilled out toward me.

"Careful!"

A warm arm encircled me, yanking me back. My eyes squeezed shut. But the burning pain I anticipated never came. There was only the servant's babbled words over the rushing water, his voice high and choked with panic.

"I'm so sorry— I'm so sorry, Your Majesty— Let me help you get something… I'm sorry, this clumsy servant deserves to die—"

Your Majesty? Slowly, heart pounding furiously, I opened my eyes again, and my breath stuck in my throat. Fuchai had wrapped his arms around me, shielding me with his own body. A patch of bright pink skin shone on his wrist, raw and ruined, his rolled-back sleeves soaked through. The water was so hot it was still steaming, little white wisps rising to the sky.

He had protected me.

There had been no room for hesitation. To have acted in time—it could only have been natural instinct, his very first reaction. A kind of inexpressible pain filled my chest, as if some part of my heart had been burned.

"Are you hurt?" he asked me, his voice rough. I shook my head, but still he stepped back and scanned me closely from head to toe, stopping only when he made sure that I was unscathed. "Good," he said, sounding genuinely relieved. "That's good."

Beside us, the servant seemed close to tears. He was disciplined enough that he prostrated himself on the deck of the boat without even being asked, his shoulders trembling like a leaf. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, please forgive me…"

"Stop your yapping," Fuchai said irritably. "Do you want to give me a headache as well as a burn mark?"

The servant made an audible gulp and said no more. Of course, it was possible he had gone into shock.

"How bad is it?" I asked Fuchai, inspecting his wrist. The skin had started to pucker. It was painful just to look at.

"Terrible," Fuchai said with a pronounced grimace. "It hurts so much I can't even think straight."

"Really?" My heart pinched, the concern showing on my face only half-pretend. I should not have felt anything at all, but—perhaps I was not as cold as I wanted to be. And I could not deny the truth either: that he had been injured because of me. None of this was how I'd planned the trip to go. "You," I called to the servant, who was still in that lowly, trembling position. "Go and fetch some soy sauce. And bandages, if you have any. If not—then clean cloth will do."

"Y-yes, Lady Xishi." He raised his head slowly. "I—I will go right now—right this very instant—"

"Hurry."

He scampered away, stumbling twice when the boat rocked against the waves, and disappeared behind the cabin.

Fuchai uttered a low sound of pain, dragging my attention back to him.

"It still hurts," he said.

"I know," I told him, my tone gentle. "I'll help you."

He blinked up at me, then furrowed his dark brows. "Just now… Was I hearing correctly? Did you ask the servant to bring soy sauce?"

The confusion in his expression was such that I could have laughed. "It's not for food. It is an old folk remedy; it should help with the pain, and prevent scarring." My mother was always getting burned in the kitchen, handling firewood and the stove and boiling water. It happened so often that she never even made a sound, just calmly reached for the soy sauce on the upper shelf and dabbed it onto her skin herself. How odd, to think of these things now. It was almost as if the memories belonged to somebody else. "I promise it works," I said.

"And here I thought you were concerned with seasoning your meals while I suffered."

My lips carved out a smile. "I would not be so heartless."

"You're right," he said, without any doubt whatsoever. That strange ache inside my chest again. I ignored it, or tried to. Then Fuchai hissed sharply between his teeth, holding his wrist higher for me to see. "It's awful, isn't it? Am I dying? Is this the end?"

"You're not dying."

"It feels like I am," he said, wincing again. "I cannot move without my skin stinging."

"Then maybe stop moving."

But instead of staying still, he shifted closer to me and laid his head on my lap like a petulant child. His hair was warm, his crow-black locks curling slightly from the damp, his eyes the color of sacred amber in the light. "I feel better like this," he said, snuggling tighter against me.

"I don't see why. It makes no difference to your arm."

"Could you not coax me a little, Xishi?" His full lower lip jutted out into a pout.

"Are you not afraid others will see you?" I asked, adopting the teasing voice I often used around him when we were alone. "The king in broad daylight, complaining of his wound and resting on his concubine's lap?"

"Let them see," he said carelessly, with the ease and arrogance of a young prince. "They will only envy me."

Loud footsteps drummed over the deck. The servant returned, carrying a small vial of soy sauce and strips of white cloth. He flushed at the sight of us together, but didn't look away. "Will—will this be okay?" he squeaked.

"Yes," I said, taking both from him. "Thank you."

He was still staring at Fuchai, perhaps hoping for the king to pardon him, or waiting to be sentenced to death. Are you really so self-sacrificing? I wanted to chide the boy. Go, while he is distracted, and you may still live.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Your Majesty?" he asked.

I bit down an exasperated sigh.

Fuchai, who had been relaxing—a little too relaxed, I would even say—on my legs, frowned anew at the servant's voice, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Sensing danger, I spoke for him. "Let me take care of the king. You can go now."

Before Fuchai could call the poor boy back and whip him, as I was very sure he wished to, I tipped a few drops of soy sauce onto his wound and rubbed it in, then bandaged it up carefully. Yet still he flinched every few seconds, and whimpered with such persistence I half wondered if he had been burned not by plain water, but some kind of corrosive poison.

"It should feel better now," I said, frowning down at his wrist.

His pout deepened. "Perhaps it would if you blew on it."

Now I was certain that he was acting. But I humored him, bending my head and blowing cool air over the wrapped cloth. "Does it still hurt?"

"Yes." He gazed up at me from under his long, curving lashes. If not for the lashes and the fullness of his lips, he would have looked like a true tyrant, a cruel king. But those features added just the right touch of vulnerability to the sharp structure of his face. "Comfort me, Xishi. I'm in excruciating pain."

Shameless , I thought to myself, but of course I could not say so. Smiling with all the indulgent airs of someone caring for their one beloved, I raised my hand and threaded my fingers through his hair, patting the top of his head. He sighed then, like a cat being stroked behind its ears, leaning into my palm.

All the while, I could feel his black-eyed gaze on me. I busied myself pretending to check his bandages for a few moments, but his attention seemed to pierce through my skin, through my lungs.

"Would it be foolish if I said I'm happy to have been burned?" he murmured.

"It would," I said.

He didn't seem to mind. "Then let me be a fool. I am happier than I've ever been." He moved his head slowly against my hand, eyes half-closed. "You haven't looked at me so closely in a while."

I tensed, but forced myself to stay silent, even as my thoughts raced ahead. Had he noticed? Could he sense my resentment? Did he suspect my plans? No, he couldn't have. Or else he wouldn't be speaking to me with such sweetness.

"Don't be mad at me anymore, all right?" he said quietly. "I can't stand it."

I felt myself go very still. He spoke to me not as a king, but as a boy, pleading forgiveness. When he was with me he held nothing back, just laid it all out there, his heart and his thoughts bared to the bone. Yet with him I held back everything. He did not even know why I'd insisted on taking a trip down these canals.

"Everything is forgotten already," I reassured him, stroking his hair.

But in my head I saw Fanli, struggling to stand before the throne, his lips bled pale, the sword pressed into his flesh. I saw Zhengdan, curled up on the floor in my coat, still fighting to smile at me as her breathing slowed. I could never forget; I would not let myself forget.

Jiejie.

Xishi-jie…

If only I could have fought them all…

Whatever flicker of warmth I felt inside me died out. We had sailed far from the inner capital now, the painted houses giving way to lush green wilderness. I looked over the boat edge. The water was so clear here that I could see the weeds floating beneath the pale blue surface, the schools of silver fish darting sharply from left to right, avoiding the splashing oars. A large bird soared low over our heads, carrying what seemed to be every possible color on earth in its glossy feathers, like a phoenix reincarnated.

The boat slowed. "We cannot go any farther than this," a different servant told us, his head bowed.

I already knew, but I frowned at him. "Why not?"

"The canal ends here, Lady Xishi," he explained. "Farther up ahead is Lake Tai, but it cannot be reached by boat."

"But I was hoping to visit Lake Tai," I said, stealing a glance at Fuchai.

"Another time," he promised. "Just say the word."

"Y-yet I'm afraid that's not quite p-possible, Your Majesty," the servant stammered out. "Physically s-speaking. This canal does not reach the lake…"

I pursed my lips and lifted my fingers from Fuchai's hair. He made a small noise of protest, but I ignored him on purpose. "I wish there were an easier way to take pleasure trips around the area, don't you? I hear Lake Tai is so beautiful, especially in the spring. Imagine: Any time we wish to be alone together, to escape from the palace, all we'd have to do is set sail…" I turned back to the servant. "Are there really no other routes?"

"N-no, Lady Xishi. I'm afraid not…"

"I see." I let the disappointment fill my voice.

"Don't be absurd," Fuchai spoke up. "If there is no canal now, then surely we can build one. How hard can it be?"

My heart skipped. I had to fight to suppress any signs of excitement.

"That— It would be a significant endeavor, Your Majesty," the servant said. "I am no expert, but to build something of such a scale…"

I folded my arms over my chest with a loud, weary sigh. I could feel Fuchai's eyes on me.

"Can it be done or not?" Fuchai snapped at the servant.

"It can—it can," he said hurriedly. "So long as you decree it, Your Majesty."

"I want a complete plan on my desk by midday tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

But Fuchai was already focused on me once more, nudging my hand with his, his intentions impossible to mistake. This time I acquiesced, lifting my fingers and running them through his soft hair. "You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you?" I murmured, staring down at him. The king who had just given his enemy the keys to his kingdom and didn't realize it at all, his lips lifted in a contented smile, his features smooth. When the historians wrote about the fate of the Wu years from now, would they be able to capture this very moment? Would they know how the idea had bloomed? Would they blame him, or me?

"Of course I would," he said, his smile widening. He looked at me how one would look upon a god. "Anything for you, my Xishi."